Tuesday, September 07, 2004

(1 of 8) Thank God that freak show is over!

[The 1st in a series aiming to purge, since pleasing doesn't seem to be an option.][This header format is in honour of "The Name of the Rose" but unlike book, length will be kept under control]

[PROLOGUE: boyfriend dumped a few months ago - hence The Defunct. Thank God that freak show is over! Enter a new character, fingers crossed. Dimmed light.]

You’d met him before, at a friend’s friend’s house. You didn’t fancy him at all and actually thought he was a bit of a prick. You apparently had a row re politics which you have thankfully repressed. (You have since become wiser and simply do not discuss some things at all thus sparing yourself a lot of aggravation from people who haven't even heard about the basics.) You then met by accident months later at New Year’s Eve and he asked whether he could take photographs of you some day wearing that same outfit. You hate being photographed and are not the bit photogenic and it’s always a hassle but you thought “Let him sweat” so you said yes. On the day you’d agreed upon you were sick so you had to postpone.

A few months later he called your mobile and asked if you wanted to catch a movie. The Defunct was sitting right next to you, already looking sour because some man had called you which almost made you say yes since you don’t deal well with people telling you what to do and even less with boyfriends who are uncomfortable with your having male friends and actually asked you not to tell him when you went out for coffee with them (no luck there, the freak) - but you, surprisingly, had an exam so couldn’t do it, plus you didn't need the boyfriend aggravation smack in the middle of exams.

Many months later you ran into him at an outside café (you all live in the same neighbourhood) and agreed you should have coffee sometime. And so you did. Then a few weeks ago you went out for another coffee. You must have been ovulating - because you talked for hours and you liked him. And because you liked him, and the way he smiles and laughs, and his voice, and his breath, you started fancying him a bit. At some point you realised he had started touching you, your arm, your wrist, your knee. Slight touches but longer than just casual ones. All of a sudden you thought “He fancies me!” - and was that a surprise (oh yes, the Defunct has you well-formatted) (it’s funny and a bit worrying that you reached that conclusion not as a female, but behaviourally. It sort of dawned on you scientifically. Get a grip).

Well, late in the night (a.m. already) he went with you to walk the dog. You were sitting on a bench and he said you had an amazing neck and how could he not kiss it. So he did. How could he not bite it. Or your perfect ears. Slowly. He then kissed your lips, no hurries. Mind you, by then you hadn’t been properly kissed in years. (How sad.) And you’ve always liked the way he kisses her in Top Gun. You’ve always liked the way he throws the table out of the way and grabs her and carries her into the bedroom in Moonspell. You've always liked - well, we see what you mean. You like men who are men. You knew that he wanted you. (I'm happy to say you caught up pretty fast this time, it didn't just dawn on you. Despite the Defunct - who indeed was so in more ways than one - you're not that formatted, you can still recognise an erection if it happens to be poking at you.) Mostly you were grateful that this one seemed to be sane, willing, normal.
Enter tongue.

(You'll be back after a short commercial break during which you‘ll sleep.)